


The rot of joint vice

by Surereal



Category: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Anal Sex, Edward is a passive, Filthy, M/M, my friend translated my fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11616108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surereal/pseuds/Surereal





	The rot of joint vice

Rot. Sometimes it seemed to Henry Jekyll that pus flows in the veins of the creature he constructed, instead of the usual bodily fluids. There is no division into veins and arteries, to blue and scarlet vessels in his flimsy body, as there is not and can not be a combination of opposites. This white rot, swirling in the doctor's inflamed imagination through the body of his creation, could only go to his heart like a mother's milk, generated by the doctor's good intention to bring up this creature, and return with the same whitish male juice, thick and sticky.  
***  
Rot. Edward Hyde is a rudiment. Both phrenology and physiognomy are powerless against it. This fossil monster, the progenitor of all animal creatures, a living humus, decay and rot nourishing for all vices.  
If Jekyll tried to maintain the whiteness of his reputation, Hyde was a sort of albino in terms of moral values.  
During the day, Hyde was often careful not to let himself go. Of course, to the extent that the concept of restraint is applicable to him. But at night he was always active, and then his mental rot acquired a devilish blackness in the moon light. Like spilled blood.  
Dr. Jekyll wrote his enlightenment lectures with ink, while Mr. Hyde wrote a foul story of his nocturnal existence with black pus.  
They were not different as black and white. Unfortunately, they differed as two hypostases of black and white. Not as a duet of ink and paper, where the first desecrate the second, and it takes them and absorbs them, but as two different independent novels that can be burned - singly or together - and mixed only in this way, in flames.  
Both were gray only in confusion, in confluence. Like a fog before dawn. Like dirt under the fingernails of a neighbor's servant who knocks rugs in the morning. Like these rugs themselves, and like the rest of this cold, sick and gray city.  
***  
One day, Dr. Jekyll presented flowers to Mr. Hyde. These were flowers, eaten by parasites. The vice does not exist without satanic elegance, and the elegance of Mr. Hyde could deserve only this symbol.  
Hyde took this step with peace-loving tranquility. He was standing in front of Jekyll, in a slouching posture, usual for his nature and habit, in a worn and crooked tailcoat - still not his own, but doctor's - and a rubbed cylinder, unchanged, despite the frenzied speed of modern fashion. And, it seems, belongs to the number of the worst Jekyll's cylinders before it was appropriated by Hyde.  
The short man graciously grinned strong carious teeth. His rot was drawn to the doctor, as if it were not a substance, but currents or Cartesian spirits. She longed to get her own.  
And Hyde was insanely attractive at this moment for the doctor's fetishized consciousness. He immediately pulled him to his waist and dug his lips and tongue into this stinking mouth.  
This waistline underlined by the coat. He could hold it forever. Due to it expressiveness, created by the costume, the Edward's silhouette also received features of elegance, inherent in vice.  
It was supplemented with gloves that hide the bestial wool on small hands, so hotly kissed by Jekyll.  
***  
The doctor always scrolled with pleasure in his head all the searing whirlwinds of passion that haunts him during the day, entering deeply into the Hyde's ass. Henry pressed Hyde's belly in the bladder region, moving abruptly, which made him hiss from the piercing pleasure.  
Often, this hole was even clean, and then the doctor spared no effort to correct this mistake, generously wetting it with his saliva, a suitable equivalent of the mud.  
Whether there was a flaw or perfection, but usually Mr. Hyde did not need a different stimulation to pour out his sperm, except for the doctor's organ inside him. And then the doctor, whose passion had not died down yet, was ready to lick it from the dusty floor, quite the way he was sometimes driven by the same frenzy of desire, licking the old stains of wine  
on the clothes of his lustful creation.  
The ugly Hyde's face was illuminated by the most blissful smile that would be deprived of the slightest malice if it were not rooted in his nature.  
***  
When, in the second tide of lust, Jekyll seals Hyde to the floor, squeezing the deceptively weak-willed man's thighs, with thoughts covered with fog-or rather, a searing physical body-lust, he seems to have been crucified on a living cross.  
Dr. Jekyll can not and does not want to part with Mr. Hyde. Separating him from himself, he got him back, and much more completely.  
Let him. Let Edward cherish and nourish in the purulent bath of voluptuous vice the abscesses of his soul.  
Dr. Jekyll believes that opposites do not exist.  
It would be paradoxical.


End file.
